


Twenty Somethings, Getting By

by jfiacre



Series: Twenty Somethings, Getting By [1]
Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Inaho's tried and true methods of flirting, M/M, Orange ties, Slaine just wants to travel, Vers is a seaside town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jfiacre/pseuds/jfiacre
Summary: Slaine owns a bookstore and yearns to travel. Inaho is the man who comes every Friday, but never buys anything. Featuring questionable fashion sense, misunderstood insinuations, and an unusual approach to flirting that only Inaho can pull off, this is the story of two boys in a small seaside town called Vers.





	Twenty Somethings, Getting By

The man in the expensive suit and orange tie was at the Self Help section today. He came in around 3PM every Friday with his eyes glued to the phone and a brown paper lunch bag. He came alone and would often browse the shelves quietly. Last week, he was in the aisle that carried cookbooks and the week before that, it was Romance. The man would stay until closing, combing through the aisles before leaving without buying anything.

 

Troyard Books was a small bookstore that stood on the main street of Vers, a quaint town that stayed afloat due to their abundance in fish and as an unlikely tourist attraction. Travelers from other countries and towns would come to Vers, claiming their love for the salty sea breeze and quiet mornings that clashed with their overcrowded train rides and early morning rush to work. They never stayed in Vers for too long though.

Residents of Vers milled about between coffee shops, family owned restaurants, and the local ice cream parlour that boasted their homemade caramel sea salt ice cream. At night, pubs would be frequented, while residents who preferred a less rowdier establishment, would go into a restaurant that served cocktails with a live band performing until midnight. Slaine spent most of his time manning Troyard Books after the death of his father two Summers ago. Recently graduated and with no job waiting, Slaine took up the responsibility for Troyard Books. Thus, he spent his days behind the counter while the residents of Vers filled the spaces on the sandy beach with their towels and umbrellas when the sun was at its hottest. Slaine, on the other hand, rose early to take his dog, Tharsis, for a quick walk on the shore when it was at its quietest. The rest of the day would meander between browsing for cheap airfare and reading travel blogs.

 

Today, he was seated at his desk with a magazine to keep him company. The man was mucking about in the Self Help section and Slaine was finding it harder to focus on the words. Most of his customers were familiar with the layout of the bookstores; they came in quietly and would come out with three or four books that kept Slaine giddy. Spring and Summer were tourist seasons and Troyard Books always found a boom in sales. Old ladies and middle aged housewives would pinch his cheeks before leaving, toting a small stack of books with them that left Slaine no time to feel guilty. He had a dog to feed after all.

“Can I help you with anything?” Slaine said from his seat. He flashed the man a dazzling smile.

“No need,” the man said. He paused and looked back at Slaine. “Thank you.”

It was the fourth time that month he left without buying anything.

The new set of books arrived yesterday. Small piles of boxes stood on top of another while Slaine flipped through a novel that had been popular with the mothers in town. It was early morning and the shop had been opened for about an hour, only Mrs.Decker and her son showed up, walking out with a few art books. He kept the store well stocked in all kinds of books, especially murder mysteries and cheesy harlequin paperbacks that bored housewives devoured while the night’s dinner burned away. There was a small shelf dedicated to travel guides at the corner of the bookstore that only Slaine ever bothered with.

The new shipment of books were positioned near the door. Guide books on public speaking and self improvement; celebrity cookbooks, and romance novels with Fabio Lanzoni were put near within eye view. Those were the sections the man usually loitered in. Today, he was going to be helpful and would perhaps even suggest a book to his quiet customer. The rest of Slaine’s morning was spent reading The Little Prince with a cup of earl grey to ward off drowsiness. Business picked up by the time lunch rolled around, bringing customers of all sorts— businessmen, housewives, and a small group of chattering children led by a frazzled teacher on a fieldtrip. The man wouldn’t come until the afternoon.

When it was lunch time, Slaine went upstairs. He lived above the bookstore in a small apartment; it was a cozy little space that was sparse in decoration, but gave him a perfect view to watch the sea.

He kicked his shoes off and crouched down. Tharsis trotted towards him, leaving soft thumps behind him as he rushed over to Slaine. “Tharsis!” Slaine called out, laughing as the dog bumped his knee. Tharsis was a Pembroke Welsh corgi given to him by his childhood friend when she had left town to study abroad. He was big for a corgi and fluffy to the point where strangers mistaken him for a walking potato. He patted the dog and walked towards the kitchen, and popped a tv dinner into the microwave. Carrying the hot tray, Slaine locked the door before climbing back down to the bookstore. He always closed shop for about fifteen minutes to heat up food and check on Tharsis. He flipped the sign back to OPEN and spent the next hour eating microwaved pasta and browsing through news articles.

 

 

The man in the orange tie was here again. There was nothing on the man’s face that gave him away. His suit was always new, slim fit and clean cut with pristine sleeves unlike some of Slaine’s ratty tees. The man resembled a lawyer, with their stone faced features, sharp black suits, and bony fingers that clung onto the curve of their Starbuck lattes. Slaine picked up his glasses and went over to the Self Help section.

“Can I help you with anything, sir?” Slaine asked, tilting his head to the side in a show of friendliness. The man didn’t look older than him, but he couldn’t sell a book with poor customer service. “I noticed that you were at the Self Help section again. Is there anything specific that you’re looking for?”

The man looked at him, and for a second, Slaine was afraid he was going to be ignored.

“No. I don’t have anything I’m looking for. I just enjoy the quiet,” the man said blandly.

The comment should have been taken as a sign for him to retreat. It wasn’t Slaine’s fault if his customer didn’t want to buy anything. He wasn’t discouraged; Slaine didn’t buy the bullshit answer. Perhaps the man was just shy.

“I— I’m Slaine!” He began, ignoring the heat creeping onto his cheeks as he fiddled with the sleeves of his cardigan. “I mean, what I’m saying is that, if you need any help then you can ask me. I’ll be over there.” He turned around and pointed to the desk before looking back to the man. He pushed his glasses up and met his gaze— milk chocolate, black coffee, and the natural scent of earth from the potted plant back at the apartment; these were all the things that came to mind.

“I’m aware. You’re wearing a nametag after all. Inaho,” the man said.

Slaine blinked and looked at the man.

“That’s my name,” Inaho said simply.

“Oh— Oh! I see. How silly of me not to realize,” Slaine replied with a smile, cheeks flushed. He felt his ears reddening as the man— no, as Inaho stayed silent. “Ah, well there really is a lot of books here, so you should take your time.” As a show, he brought his arms up and spread them to emphasize.

“Is your store going out of business?”

“Wh— What’s that supposed to mean? How rude! It’s not! I was just trying to help.” He scowled and crossed his arms, eyebrows scrunched as he shot Inaho a glare.

“That doesn’t seem to be the case. I apologize for the assumption. You must be doing fairly decent since I know the rent isn’t cheap here,” Inaho said calmly. Customer service gone out the window, Slaine stepped closer to the man, a retort at the tip of his tongue. He stopped as he saw the book in Inaho’s hand.

“Oh. You do have a book,” He said, somewhat smug as he grinned at Inaho. The man avoided his gaze. “Let me take a look— !” Slaine laughed softly and yanked the thick novel from Inaho with ease. “Self help books are pretty popular, so I don’t see why you’re being so shy about it…” He trailed off.

There, clutched in his hands, was a self help book on sex. He stared hard at the bold letters in blue; the cover showed someone— a man’s jeans, being unzipped by a pair of well manicured hands.

“Gu— Guide to getting it— it on?” Slaine screeched. He clamped a hand on his mouth and eyed the old lady in the far corner, browsing through a stack of books.

“Do you have any other suggestions? You must be an expert,” Inaho said. He looked at Slaine expectantly and caught the book that was shoved at him.

His face was bright red. The blond gawked at the man and sputtered, “I don’t know what you’re insinuating! Whatever it is! It’s not that!”

There was a pause before Inaho answered. Slaine felt himself vibrating from where he stood, his vision blurry by his tears and cheeks flushed in anger and embarrassment. He reeled it all in, squashing the urge to deck Inaho.

“No. I don’t understand what you’re implying. I meant that since you are running this store, a store that sells books, I can only assume that you must be well experienced in suggesting a better book,” Inaho replied. It irked Slaine that the man kept a good poker face on.

Slaine coughed, shoulders sagging.

“I— I see. I’m not too familiar with this specific category, but I’m sure there’s others like this lying around somewhere,” he said meekly, pushing up his glasses with a finger as he bit his lip and looked elsewhere.

“So you’re inexperienced?”

“Inexperienced?! What—”

“An inexperienced bookstore owner. I can see that. You’re fairly young and while it doesn’t appear to be that you’re struggling, I wouldn’t say you’re raking profit either.”

He scowled at the man.

“Are you going to buy something or not?”

Inaho had left empty handed that Friday.

 

 

Friday rolled around pretty quickly much to Slaine’s relief. The shop was open seven days a week, but closed at one on the weekends. On the weekends after the store closed, Slaine would take Tharsis out for a walk, followed by a trip to the ice cream parlour.

The sex deviant was at the cookbook section this time. When Inaho had left the previous Friday, Slaine scoured the entirety of the Self Help section and found several other books with the same content. He left them alone in their places, baffled that he had more in stock.

“No sex book today, Inaho?” Slaine greeted, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall and peered over to the brunette.

“I’m looking for a beginners’ cookbook for Yuki,” Inaho said, not taking his eyes from the titles on the shelf.

“Yuki?”

“My older sister who fails at cooking,” Inaho said blandly. He pulled out a few books from the shelf and added them to the growing pile in his arms.

“Oh.” Slaine smiled with ease and tapped his chin. He turned to the books before making a soft noise of satisfaction when he caught sight of the plain looking spine with black letters, _A Beginners Guide to Edible Eats_. He held it out for the man to take.

“This is my personal favorite. It’s been pretty helpful and I haven’t gotten any serious food poisoning so far,” Slaine said. The weekends were spent experimenting in the kitchen with an open cookbook and a curious corgi that trailed behind him in hopes of catching fallen bits of food.

“So you’ve only gotten mild food poisoning?” Inaho asked. He took the offered book and ignored Slaine’s angry sputters as he flipped through the pages.

“My cooking is… Decent,” Slaine retorted, arms crossed. “Anyways, you should think about getting this book instead of the others. It’s more detailed, but the recipes are easy to follow and the dishes aren’t too fancy so she won’t get overwhelmed. Plus, it’s cheaper than the ones you’re carrying.” He took the books from Inaho’s arms and organized them back into the shelf. He stopped after a moment of silence and glanced back to Inaho. “What?”

If Inaho was smiling, Slaine could never tell. They were strangers yet Slaine sworn that he saw the corner of Inaho’s lips quirking ever so slightly at times. Inaho always wore a permanent mask of nonchalance, making him an excellent poker player.

“Nobody ever wants to play poker with me.”

Ignoring the embarrassment of his slipup, Slaine snorted.

“I can’t imagine why,” he said dryly. “So do you want me to ring this up for you?” He held up the book.

Before Inaho could answer, they were interrupted by a sound coming from his pocket. Slaine puffed his cheeks up in an attempt to contain his laughter, hiding his face behind his hands as his shoulders quaked in mirth. “I didn’t peg you to be such a romantic,” the blond said teasingly.

If Inaho was annoyed, he didn’t look it, paying the blond no mind as he picked up the call. He stayed quiet for a few minutes, only opening his mouth to give a brief “yes” or “no” before hanging up the call.

“I have to go,” Inaho said. He rushed past Slaine before stopping by the door. “Just so you know, I won’t be back for awhile.” The man left without another word.

Slaine looked at the book in his hands and shrugged.

There was always next time.

 

 

 

_A Beginners Guide to Edible Eats_ sat at his desk for the past two months. Business was slow due to the storm that left Vers gray and dreary. The pitter patter poundings of the rain hitting concrete only served as a clear indicator that no customers would be coming in today.

It had been awhile since Inaho last shown up. On Fridays, Slaine begun leaving the shop open for an extra hour, because an hour wouldn’t make much of a difference and the walk from the desk to the door was too far on his sore legs. The other day, Tharsis had refused to go home, leaving Slaine to chase after him for the whole hour on the beach. The corgi looked guilty when Slaine tossed him a glare, pouring sand out from his shoes, his clothes dripping wet with salt water.

He tapped his fingers on the wood, the other hand underneath his chin as he surveyed the room around him. Business was the same as usual and Slaine saw himself diving into the same routine. The presence of Inaho hadn’t brought much difference in the blond’s life, but he had been the only person for Slaine to talk to, if only for just a few minutes.

There was a deep comfort in talking to the other man, even though it left Slaine feeling slightly insulted and petty at times. Perhaps Inaho was busy with work, since the call looked urgent, and the man had to storm out, only to get buried in a mountain of paperwork. Or perhaps his girlfriend grew annoyed of him and was now demanding his attention. It didn’t seem likely for someone like Inaho to be anyone’s boyfriend, especially if you had to read books like _Guide to Getting it On_ in the Self Help section of a bookstore. There was even the possibility that he had gotten into an accident and was now laying comatose in a hospital somewhere.

Out of all the possibilities, there was one that lingered at the back of Slaine’s mind that made the most sense. Perhaps Inaho had gotten bored of going to the bookstore and that was a possibility because the man never bought anything, only to browse. He was out in some ritzy lounge with his friends for happy hour, wearing his ridiculous orange tie that clashed with his Armani suits. His hair was slicked back with gel for once and there would be a girl, a blonde, tugging his arm while she giggles, and leaning in to plant a kiss that would leave a stain on his cheek, her breasts pressed against him. And then perhaps, he would take her home and push her down on his bed, towering over her as he leans in and shows her all of his knowledge that he had gotten from his sex book—

 

He dumped his half eaten tv dinner into the trash before getting up. The clock read 7:10; the bookstore had been opened for a little over two hours now. He flipped the sign to CLOSED before trekking over to the door. The rain was coming down hard, leaving the streets wet and empty; the air cold. Slaine shivered in his wool sweater, hands clasped on the stand to bring it inside. He stood under the blue awning of the store, protecting most of his body from the rain while water seeped into his shoes. Footsteps approached him from behind, but he made no move. There were several people in the rain earlier that day, holding umbrellas while they made their brisk walk back home. He felt something pressed onto his back that scratched at him gently, followed by a soft thump.

“Wha—”

“Slaine,” Inaho said as the blond turned around. His vision was engulfed by a field of orange and he yelped, feeling something soft brushed against his cheek.

“Too close!” The blond grumbled, pushing the object away to glare at Inaho. He ignored the weird jolt in his chest as he saw the man, hair dripping wet despite the umbrella he was holding. There was a bouquet of orange roses in his other hand.

“Were...Were you trying to hit me with that?” Slaine mumbled stupidly. He adjusted his glasses and lowered his gaze to the right, feeling his cheeks scorching in heat. He squirmed a little and backed against the door, feeling the man’s gaze linger.

“They’re for you. Take them,” Inaho said. There was no orange tie today, but a bright red one. Dumbfounded, Slaine reached out for the bouquet and brought it to his face, rainwater and the scent of flowers.

“Thank you,” he said shyly, clutching the roses to his chest. He looked at Inaho; the man’s bangs had gotten a little wet, droplets of water rolled down his face. The scent of heavy rain against the pavement hung in the air. It was a cold, brisk earthy scent that woke Slaine up better than any coffee. He hugged the flowers to his chest, careful not to crush them.

“Why did you bring them?” He asked. It was hard to focus with Inaho right in front of him. The man should be at home, snuggling with his girlfriend under covers as they shared whispers and kisses. “I’m about to close up shop for the day, so if you’re looking to browse around, you’ll have to do that another time.”

“I’m not here for that,” Inaho said.

“If you’re not here for that then I don’t understand why you’re here at all,” Slaine replied. He moved to open the door and stared hard at the floor. “I appreciate the flowers, but you should get going now. It’s only going to rain harder and you have people waiting for you. Don’t make them wait, Inaho.” He grabbed the door knob, only for his hand to be taken off of it.

 

“Orange roses.”

“What?” Slaine said. He frowned at Inaho. He was cold, his socks were soggy, and there was a chance that he was going to get sick later. Tharsis was waiting for him upstairs; there was a poorly made quiche for dinner; another travel book to read, snuggled under the covers on the couch, with Tharsis squished against him. There was a bookstore that needed managing because of his late father and a small, quiet life that he was predestined to live in this equally small and humble town. Inaho was a stranger with his orange tie and messy brown hair, who only ever showed up on Fridays to browse at his bookstore. Who, unlike Slaine, was a closed book with a heavy lock; the key in some lucky girl’s hands. Said lucky girl was waiting alone in the kitchen with food that she cooked, because she didn’t need to study cookbooks like Slaine did, whose food was getting cold, all because of this stupid man in front of him, standing in the rain as if expecting something of him, as if believing that Slaine had a chance.

“Orange roses,” Inaho repeated. “Do you know what they mean?”

Slaine couldn’t pull away. His lips quivered, daring him to speak, shout; say something. He stood there. There was something lodged in his throat. Perhaps he was getting sick now. His face was hot and his hands were clammy around the wrapper of the bouquet. He licked his lips and shook his head.

“Orange roses signify enthusiasm, passion,” Inaho said calmly before stepping closer to Slaine. They were about the same height. He felt the Inaho’s breath ghost against his cheeks, lips brushing against his ear. He shivered as air tickled his skin, his warm body flushed against the man with the flowers acting as a weak barrier between them.

“And desire.”

He gasped, his heart raged against his chest, and the sweat on his palms smearing against the wrapper. Everything was muffled. Slaine could no longer here the sound of the rain beating down around them, or the skip of his heart. His back was cool against the door, while his neck was prickling with heat, the tag at the back of his sweater itched at his skin. Heat pooled into his stomach; giddy, nervous energy coursed through his veins, sloshing about and leaving him drunk and stupid.

The warmth subsided as Inaho pulled away, leaving Slaine to squash the urge to lean closer to the man. He remained silent as Inaho looked at him.

“I came to ask you on a date. To clarify, I have been meaning to ask you on a date since I first came here, and saw you asleep at your desk. You were drooling.”

Slaine flushed. That had been the one of the few times where he had fallen asleep while manning the store. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but sometimes business would be slow, and browsing the internet could only help him to a certain degree.

 

“That’s a horrible reason to ask someone on a date,” he retorted, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“The sweater you were wearing had little bats on them and it was nowhere close to Halloween,” Inaho said calmly.

“Do you even know how to ask someone out on a date properly!?”

He paused and stared at Inaho. It dawned on him why the man wandered through every section of the bookstore, but only ever returned to three sections out of the store; the cookbooks, the romance novels, and dear lord; the Self Help section.

“You have terrible taste in fashion!”

“You can tell me all about it on our date.”

“Orange is a ghastly color for such a stick in the mud like you.”

“Orange is my favorite color and I can stick something else— “

“You really need to stop reading those books. Wait. You never buy anything at my store! Where did you buy those?”

“Buying it online is cheaper…”

“Next Friday. 7PM. The shop closes at five. You’re buying and I’m going to order the most expensive thing on the menu and not eat it.”

“Why would you want to order something and not eat it?”

“Sh— Shut up! I’ll— I’ll see you then!”

He slammed the door in Inaho’s face.

 

 

Later that night, he stood in the kitchen with Tharsis in his arms. His quiche was heating up in the oven, filling the kitchen with a homey, bread kind of smell. Slaine sighed softly to himself as he swayed side to side in a slow dance, Tharsis’ fur tickling his chin. And there, tacked against the kitchen wall, was a calendar with the following Friday circled in red; a week away. He closed his eyes and felt the corner of his lips quirk up against Tharsis’ fur.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated Valentines day! I've been wanting to write a story about a bookstore with a small seaside town as the setting. It sounds strange, but that kind of setting appeals to me. I read this over a few times, but if there's a mistake please feel free to tell me. Also, I was thinking of writing a sequel or two for this, but I'll see. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the story, or even just to say hi. : )
> 
> And yes, the book is real. I googled for a random one. 
> 
> Inaho's ringtone is George Michael's "Careless Whisper."


End file.
